Brewing Indecision
by tremor3258
Summary: Admiral An'riel seh'Viriant of the Republic Navy has to face her decisions, and her doubts about how much choice she had in those decisions since Virinat leading up to the Battle of Earth. Fortunately, the Navy's need for a tremendous amount of ale will keep her moving for the moment...
"Brewing Indecision"

By tremor3258

Loosely based on ULC21's 4th challenge, about a Captain's facing their darkest moment, An'riel's a Romulan sci captain, dealing with the main STO storyline, so that mean's she's at least half an operative.

Setting: Before "Time and Tide"

* * *

It was a mighty convoy, but the proconsul of one of the Alliance's three great pillars deserved no less. The _Lleiset_ , flagship of the Republic, the reforged symbol of death, terror, and destruction into something new, carried the head of state. As if that wasn't enough, a dozen ships from the Republic home fleet came with it. Almost all of them were older ships, refitted to face the challenges after the Iconian War. But even the _D'khellra_ class _Jade Hawk_ that had been reforged from one of the terrors of the old Federation Neutral Zone slid off the eye before the oddest refit.

The _I.S.S. Lexington_ , born of another universe, another government, _and_ another time. It certainly wasn't the largest ship with the _Lleiset_ nearby, but its undersized nacelles, with coils built of hyperdense alloys impossible to current science, indicated that it had almost the same usable interior space. It was a gentle indicator, as a ship captured in battle, an _Earth_ ship captured in battle, of both the Republic's ferocity despite the Iconian War's hideous wounds, and of its success in rebuilding itself.

 _Lexington_ , named after a long-forgotten battle on an alien world, sailed beside the _Lleiset_ , guarding its flanks, a tour of the Vendor sector as the Republic's executive met with colonial officials. Later, D'Tan, who had survived the Tal Shiar, the Elachi, and the Iconians, would be offering advice and consul as the Alliance considered how to respond the Tholian's attack on the unaligned Na'kuhl, dimming their star and condemning the system to a slow death. _Lexington_ had her own appointment in the Delta Quadrant, and would follow for now.

And her captain looked out the vast gathering of ships, and she knew how it was her fault they had come together, and she stewed in her guilt.

* * *

Ri'tel Veta had once been a simple artisan, working on Crateris, putting aside his past as a thug for the Star Empire on that twilight world of mines. But the Tal Shiar happened to the Reman's nascent hopes, and he'd fallen in with the Republic long before the majority of his people had joined – taking up old habits as a security officer. Following Centurion seh'Virinat, and eventually _Admiral_ seh'Virinat as extra muscle, he'd travelled farther than he'd imagined and seen fantastic worlds.

He'd considered a fair trade if people, like his current companion as they stumped through the corridors, would stop looking at his leg, but it still clicked a little when off New Romulus' standard gravity. Dozens of planets, and what crippled him was a vivver knocking over a cargo container on the Republic's new capital.

The prosthetic was pretty good – mangled slaves weren't worthwhile – but it'd slowed him down too much. But in a tradition as old as the stars, the Admiral had looked after an old shipmate and gave him a chef's warrant and a berth as long as he'd want.

But cargo containers still made him nervous, and the Reman in charge of them wasn't helping his state of mind. And he kept looking at the leg. "Quartermaster Sinh," he said, "We're looking for forty specially laid in sides of some perfectly nice herd-animals. Your manifest said they were in cargo bay three. This ship isn't that alien to let me know this isn't cargo bay three. So do you want to explain to the Admiral how we're not going to have to break tradition of one last groundside meal?"

He gestured, taking in the rows of bulk cargo strapped in carefully in the front of the cargo bay, the Republic containers looking out of place on the pseudo-Federation ship. Notably, none of them were listed as cargo for the _Lexington_ 's mess halls. Actually, now that he looked at them, none of them were listed for the Lexington.

"Call me Arlek," the other Reman said in a chipper tone. "They're all in here," he said, waving a PADD. "We didn't have to juggle everything around for the consumables while loading, because this ship's got really good transporters – we can pull it out and save the heavy hauling for all this," he explained, "The _Lleiset_ 's carrying a bunch of heavy equipment to drop off at the colonies, so we're carrying their supplies for the second half of their trip."

The Reman looked around admiringly, "The layout on this ship is the best yet – you wouldn't even think it is alien. Think we can keep this one? You gotta start admiring the Federation, ergonomics are just perfect." He sniffed, "Long way from the rockets back home. Before Obisek came, we were down to barely maintaining a few satellites at my colony."

Ri'tel walked forward, cautiously, and tapped the containers. They didn't budge, thankfully. "That explains a lot," he muttered. "So you're one of those training models the Admiral's been routing through, right?" he asked. Arlek nodded. "Well, if you're just looking for the star on the docket, you probably will, but if you're looking for adventure, we're probably moving the core staff again in a few weeks. Though this ship is pretty nice," he had to agree. His _house_ had been smaller than his quarters. He peered closely at the writing. "And besides, this might be the Federation someday, in that weird skeevy Mirror way. I've been on a few of their ships, and they're not this comfortable, yet. Right now, it's the Republic, and don't you forget. Alliance or no"

Arlek walked forward, still consulting his PADD, "The food stores should be three back, one row over. This ship is covered in transporters – not just cargo, either, great resolution everywhere. I heard even the bridge has one, as silly as that is," he explained, then asked, "What is with jumping you guys around so much, anyway? I know the whole Battle of Earth and how bad shape everything was –why I signed up to help, but it's not normal to go to this many ships."

"Admiral's pretty adaptable," Ri'tel said with pride, "I'd swear she snuck some Vulcan teachings out somewhere, with her memory. But she knows of us mere mortals, and she and the Admiralty are seeing how well the current manuals work, and trying to tweak 'em to help crews get up to speed as fast as we can build them." He sighed, "My mom was in the Dominion War; she said it used to take months to finish a ship's assembly. Now we've got warbirds coming off like shuttles, and all your greenhorns coming up, and we still have the older half of the fleet in mothballs. Wonder how long this took." He looked at the materials, "Cocktail napkins and refreshments? How _long_ is the _Lleiset_ staying in the Federation?"

Arlek said, "Elements, I don't know. Most of this is going under diplomatic seal, it seems – this lot is embassy supplies for Earth." Ri'tel's craggy face lit up, and held out a hand. Arlek asked, "What?"

"Unsealer and an antigrav," Ri'tel demanded. "Half the Federation doesn't have proper taste buds, but we and the Rihannsu do – and I'm supposed to do a proper feast tonight. We can replicate some knock-off mollusks, they won't know."

Arlek folded his arms, "I'm not that new to screw up like that," he said flatly. "Admiral finds out I screwed with a diplomatic mission, I'm headed home out an airlock."

"Oh, she's serious, but she's not vicious," Ri'tel said, "Trust me, I've seen her vicious, and all the people that bring that out of her are dead," he said encouragingly. "And we've got, what, three more days before the _Lleiset_ comes asking for any of this – I just want to look." Arlek still looked hesitant, and Ri'tel prompted, "Okay – promise not to take anything, guard's honor, but seriously, I want to see what the Republic wants the Federation to think is our haute cuisine. And this ship's great, but it's still too newly looted for hydroponics. There _might_ be fresh spices." He tapped on one that indicated 'cultural exchange materials'.

That made Arlek look interested. Even this ship didn't have the hydroponics for complete food all the time, but spice plants gave the infinite variety that stopped replicated food for wearying a crew on a long assignment. Or even a short assignment, in the celebrated tradition of crews grousing. He went and got the unsealer. To Ri'tel's irritation, he didn't hand it over. He did touch his PADD – the box they were looking at vanished, and though Ri'tel dodged to the side, the others didn't even shift as the crate rematerialized. Arlek gave a triumphal grin full of teeth.

Ri'tel stood up, dusted himself off, went over and casually dropped the quartermaster to the ground, retaining the unsealer. "Don't forget the whole point of the Resistance, sonny, we're not here to be pushed around. You need to move faster if you're going," he advised, and whistled a little as he went over and opened the box, the crate's coded polymers responding. He reached in, and then started cursing, before reaching over his shoulder as Arlek tried to get him in an armlock, grabbing the other Reman's wrist in a painful hold.

"Okay, seriously, stop playing kiddo," he said without looking, still staring into the crate. "I think there's a real problem."

Arlek hissed as he was released, then cursed himself when he looked into the crate. "We need the Subcommander," he said, "If any of this is real in here." He looked up, wide-eyed, "Do you think someone's trying to sabotage the Republic?"

"No one's this clever," Ri'tel said, but Arlek thought he was trying to convince himself. "It's got to be stupidity. Got to be." He tapped his wrist communicator, and said "Warrant Ri'tel to Subcommander Khev – priority to cargo bay three."

* * *

A little while later, Tovan Khev went through the strange and alien; yet eerily comfortable, halls of the future ship. As fast as An'riel had been shuffling ships lately, this one was taking some getting used to. Most of that, though, had been trying to make sure the basics of all their fighting was available in the default tactical programming for the fleet. This ship was different, not one of the Republic's. It'd been a hulk when it came into the Republic's orbit, but even its shattered remnants made it a better fleet support vessel than almost anything in the fleet.

Maybe this one would be one she'd find as a home. _Simurgh_ 's service had led to the _Caprimul_ -class destroyer being locked into stasis as an exhaustive analysis was planned. An'riel's own analysis had been right, that time travel would be required before the Iconian threat ended.

And with their usual luck, they'd been in the right position to use the last desperate gamble of the time portal. The _Simurgh_ had gone through a time portal farther than any 'previous' time jump, and its sensors were on the full time. The full analysis of its encounter with the timestream could take years. And An'riel had needed a new ship.

Tovan growled when he realized where habit had brought him to a halt wasn't where he needed to be. On the usual warbird layout, An'riel's main office and quarters was kept close to the turbolifts, but the sheer space – the greatest luxury to any spacefarer – of the residential quarters pushed the door farther away.

"Falling into bad habits from old ships is half the point all this moving around is supposed to fix," Tovan said to himself as he reached the right door and pushed the chime. With the other hand, he had the major evidence.

"Tovan?" came An'riel's voice, after a moment, then warmer, "Come in, come in."

The door slid open – she'd done her best to add some touches, but no one would mistake it for a Republic-built ship. The wallscreens were too big for a Republic vessel, an old echo of forgotten paranoia turned tradition. Tovan could see some sort of plotting map overlaid on a starchart behind her.

"What is that there?" they asked at the same time. The old friends stared at each other briefly. An'riel sighed, slumping.

"It is the approaches to the Na'kuhl system," An'riel admitted. "I was looking if there was anyway the Republic could get some support out there. Given that we have colonies so depopulated crop failure is a serious concern, I do not think we can even offer token support." She sighed.

"That another one of Kererek's lessons? What did he call it? War College by mail?" Tovan asked, interested in spite of the other problems. An'riel had been bumped to Admiral for a while, but hadn't held more than a temporary fleet command during or before the Iconian War, mainly using the rank for its authority when dealing with the rest of the Alliance. There'd been a good reason for it, at least in An'riel's mind.

"That was it, but no," An'riel said, shuddering. "No, this is my own. Tovan, I swear, by the Elements, I thought he had reignited that star. I would have _never_ entered that portal or buried that thing if I thought otherwise. I know we are at the best weapon a really good arrowhead in comparison to the Tox Uhat, but to the demons with the time line until we had it figured." She fell backwards in her chair, covering her face briefly, and then closed off the screen. "Even if it comes to nothing, at least this will be good practice, slotted into a fleet and working more with Kererek."

"Oh, Kererek was never going to keep you tied to Home Fleet – our assignment there was a PR move to show we weren't rolling over with the fleet in tatters. He's not so much a fool to tie you away from crises," Tovan consoled, then stopped. "You're thinking of moving to staff groundside?" The hurt, her moving away from her crew, must have showed on his face, An'riel looked frantic, then straightened.

"Tovan Khev, it is a disservice to yourself to not consider yourself an excellent captain. In full command, you could have your own squadron in six months" she said in her 'command' voice.

"It's a disservice to _you_ to let you step out of the center chair!" Tovan exploded, not believing this. "You made it through Sela! Tal Shiar! The Borg! Everything we've been through – how could _mnhei'sahe_ to the Republic, to Virinat, let you step away from this? We did it! We finally found peace _and_ honor. Enjoy it!"

An'riel sat down again at the mention of honor and duty. She said quietly, "Partly because of Sela. If she had any hold of me, she would use it on Iconia. She did not – so I am not a sleeper agent. Finally, I _know_." The relief was clear on her face. "One ship, it was always a worry, but I could not, in _mnhei'sahe_ , risk the Republic fleet, for everything they were doing. One ship, even ours, could be stopped. A fleet suddenly turned could destroy everyone."

Tovan said, "So take the fleet command you deserve. _We_ knew you weren't crazy." He took a deep breath, and said, "Every week it seems we have better ships, so Elements know there's plenty of slots opened up. Kererek trained you up on logistics, but you've proven a combat commander too much to be of much use at Command. He's got all those 'fire brigade' reaction squadron deployments now. How is Sela finally doing some of use and _proving_ you weren't a wind-up doll make you want to give up to groundside?"

An'riel snapped, "I am not giving up!" She sighed, looking distant. "Elements. Maybe I am, Tovan. But, remember, back at the beginning? A few farmers staring at consoles and hoping the singularity core would not eat us all?" Tovan nodded, "Hakeev was there, and we all knew we were dead. And somehow, an antique warbird managed to overload the shields on a modern battlecruiser enough that the bridge felt it."

Tovan said, "You refused to back down to the Tal Shiar bullying – we fought as hard as we could and we survived, so? It's worked pretty well for us"

An'riel said, "That is exactly right. It kept happening, with all the odds against us – and then, there we were, two hundred thousand years ago." Her mouth twisted briefly. "With Sela."

"A paradox stretching across our race's entire recorded history, finding ourselves closing a time loop and saving civilization as we knew it," she said. She, straightened, stood, and brought up the Na'kuhl system again. "And, then, well, we picked up the pieces. No matter the victory, that seems to happen. And then, with a _Kara_ dreadnought, and being the big stick, **and** a Federation science specialist, we doom billions of people."

"That wasn't you," Tovan said, "Everyone's cleared you, even the press. Even the Federation press. The Tholians did it, and we had no ability to use the Tox-whatever on our own."

"I knew we had luck, Tovan, to survive everything, but Elements – I thought we were backing it with skill and bravura, but was the universe just _bending_ so we could end the strain of the time loop?" An'riel said, anguished. "I think it would be better moving somewhere where I am moving numbers, before I get a crew killed, without the universe looking out for us. Just do this diplomatic mission –we have finished helping do the base tactical briefings for all the rush equipment from the War. Time for me to head off to read reports. Everything else," she finished darkly, "Would be _skill_ "

"Elements, really?" Tovan said, " _This_ is what bothers you?" An'riel looked surprised.

"Getting everyone killed? Yes," she said flatly.

"No, that's reasonable. You're worried everyone's going to get killed because _you're not as good as people say you are_ and live in the real world," Tovan looked at his friend with some pity. "Elements, I know you can't say everything to me when you're on duty, but this is why D'Tan put counselors in, in case captains started believing their government's press releases." He smiled. "And besides," he said, "You're used to this insanity – get us a nice patrol mission against the unknown and you'll stop focusing on eating yourself up."

An'riel allowed, "Okay, that may be true."

Tovan insisted, "It is true – anyone who was willing to go to Virinat is _not_ an introspective sort. Get out of this rut of training and back into the unknown, and you'll see it's not just fate. I won't go all Klingon, but this _is_ why I'm first officer, you seem to lose your edge for real, _mnhei'sahe_ would have me writing you up for that boring staff position that would probably kill you." An'riel laughed at that, seemingly involuntarily.

Tovan continued, "We're literally heading into the future this mission. I don't know what's going to happen, but there's no one I'd rather have as captain. A good challenge like a diplomatic summit set after we're all long dead will have you feeling more like yourself instead of all this paperwork." He waved, "And this ship is great for figuring mysteries. It was a good choice."

That made An'riel laugh longer. "Tovan, sorry, yes – all right, I promise not to make any requests until after this. But it would not be this ship." He looked surprised at that, and An'riel explained, "The smaller future ships are bad enough, but even with most of the technology gone, what is left we can barely keep up."

She thought, and said, "A normal warp engine deionization and coolant flush, basic maintenance, can be done anywhere in maybe ten hours with a normal dock crew. This takes five hundred hours and some very exotic specialists. And those amazing ultra-dense nacelles that save so much space for everything else on this ship are probably irreplaceable. Even if we do not see combat, the ship will probably be docked for a month. And if we lose a nacelle, pray the Terran Empire invades."

Tovan admitted, "I saw the on-board maintenance schedule, but I didn't realize the dock-side tasks were even worse."

"Oh, the nacelles are the worst of it, incredible high density coils," An'riel said, "But what good is a starship without them? Just to give an idea how far we are away from this stripped hulk: The command warbirds get similar performance. And their nacelles are like twenty percent more of their mass, and had to be doubled up to _fake_ being a better, single nacelle to maintain their warp field. We just cannot do the coils."

She shrugged. "That is why they are battlecruisers and this is a dreadnought, even if it is probably just a science ship in the future." An'riel made a brief face, "Though at least the command ships have cloaks."

"Oh, so you _were_ looking at command ships," Tovan said, feeling a bit better and sitting down.

An'riel admitted, "Yes, certainly before Na'kuhl. They are not half-blind at long-range like dreadnoughts, and have the maneuverability to independent cruise. Excellent sensors to survey and identify issues. With some decent labs –and their cloaks," she smiled again here, "I could see using one on missions, given the crises we keep ending up at." She sighed, settling into gloom again.

Tovan pulled out the reason he'd entered in the first place, "Actually – speaking of crises, I'd forgotten why I came in here." An'riel stared at it, briefly.

"That is ale," she observed, "Thought I do not recognize the label. Tovan, this is why we liaised with the Federation when the choice came between them and the KDF – they do not consider sobriety a crisis," she said, lecturing.

Tovan shook his head, and went over to a sideboard to grab some glasses, pouring some into two. The liquid was pale for ale, nearly translucent. "No, I haven't gone Klingon, there's a real problem here Ri'tel spotted – drink some."

An'riel drank, her eyes nearly bulging but her usual control taking over. She swished carefully… and eventually risked a breath. "Did I forget the date? Is this the last of the Virinat stock?" Years before, a mission had given them the chance to liberate the surviving bottles of that first aborted tasting.

"Thank the Elements, no," Tovan said with real relief.

More cautiously, An'riel asked, "Did Rinna take up brewing? Is this the first batch?"

"No, she's still happy working in the shipyards," Tovan said, irritated. He was pretty sure his sister could do better than this. Blindfolded.

"Did Rinna _invest_ in a brewery?" An'riel asked, then seeing his face, continued, "Did _you_ invest in a brewery?"

"No, and no," Tovan said, "What you have there is the intended potable for the Republic Embassy to the United Earth and the Federation. It's still illegal, so we have to ship it under seal." He sighed. "I checked, all the containers had this brand – Ri'tel said he recognized it from Imperial service, it's an industrial operation on Rator that churned it out for low-grade troops. And, worst of all, _D'Tan_ is the record for singing off on it."

An'riel looked at the glass, then up, before holding the glass to the light. "Air around us, seriously? I am amazed the Empire did not fall from a full-on soldier revolt. Bad enough to not send wine, but such as _this_." She tapped a console, bringing up an inventory screen. "All right, it may be tight, but we did pack extra for our diplomatic mission," she said, "You have my authority to use ship stores to upgrade the contents – how much was there?"

Tovan let out a deep breath, "Well, these were standard containers – I checked with the _Lleiset_ , counting all the transfers, it's at least fifty-five containers are intended for Earth – given standard size and packing material, that's at least _fourteen thousand_ bottles of this coolant polish."

An'riel stopped, hands dropping limply to the desk. "Is Jalel still using us to smuggle it to his family?" she asked weakly.

Tovan said, "No, he switched to wine, said his cousin was able to get that tavern open."

An'riel collected herself somewhat, and started typing. "Someone," she said sternly, "in the Diplomatic Corps is guilty of some very heinous lining of pockets. And is risking humiliating the Proconsul, no less. This is the exact sort of corruption I thought we were away from." She frowned, eyes narrowing, and Tovan smiled to himself, briefly, seeing her wheels begin to turn.

"But that is for later – purchasing enough to replace that, especially of sufficient quality," An'riel said, and stood up, and walked to the replicator, returning with some water, rinsing her mouth. "Sufficient quality will require credit on Republic accounts, and may raise questions our auditors will not want stated until we have our thief." She looked bleak, "And these are Imperial sectors. The Iconians hit hard. The colonies we are going to are ale _importers_ this year."

Tovan cringed and said, "If we start now and use the hanger fabricators, we _might_ -"

"Replicate what, I hope, is a year supply for the Embassy?" An'riel said. "The ambassador would never forgive the Navy. They would think we drunk it all."

"Enough ale to souse Q'onos?" Tovan said in disbelief, then reconsidered, "Well, maybe with the colony defense squadrons."

An'riel was still searching the databases she had at her access, checking squadron inventories. "Nowhere close to even salt the ale with better stuff, at that quantity," she said, "Not even with all the ships. I do not want to slow down D'Tan's itinerary by hunting down small lots."

Tovan pointed out, "We have our appointment in the Delta Quadrant."

"Captain Walker is a _time traveler_ ," An'riel said dismissively, "We could reschedule. I suppose our next step is a command meeting. Maybe someone else has a cousin with a tavern." She started to pull up the communication, then stopped, "Oh, Tovan – write up some commendations for Ri'tel and the new quartermaster, and I will get them on their files." She sighed. "And I have to contact the Judiciary, and pray the Elements are with us, and whoever defrauded the Proconsul is on planet still."

* * *

No one had any relatives blessed with copious amounts of quality alcohol. At least, not in these sectors. And most of the ships were too new or fresh from spacedock to have any stills doing anything useful yet.

"How did this happen?" Jarok said again, now that the initial summary was finished. She'd brought her senior staff, except her doctor, who was making sure D'Tan was kept out of it at least until they had a solution, to try and avoid humiliating their chief of staff.

Her security officer, Borg implants gleaming again, and much recovered from Sela's ministrations, spoke. "There's a seventy percent chance of massive peculation, twenty-three percent chance of the transit and dockside quartermasters stealing and replacing the items, four percent some sort of time-traveler," An'riel winced as Gaius hit that one, "And a three percent chance of an unfortunate series of spectacular incompetence, thanks to the rapid promotion and lack of Academy training due to the collapse of the previous government among Republic personnel."

"That high?" Jarok asked with some amusement. Gaius merely nodded, affronted.

"Regardless of how it happened, hunting around for that much ale in small lots will take more time than the Proconsul's schedule allows. Large quantities are needed. _Quiet_ large quantities are best, until Command can investigate who is responsible," An'riel said.

Gaius added, "If I may, Admiral, the most likely scenario is that whomever is responsible would track our fleet's activity, to see if they got away with it. The sum is substantial."

"We are headed to areas hit hard by the Iconians, not trade nexus," the captain on one of the supporting _Mogais_ said, pinch-faced, "Their whole problem is they don't have anything, but, ah, with the Federation's banning ale, you'd be, um, surprised what shows up around customs' stations, sirs." He looked uncomfortable.

An'riel said sympathetically, "Subcommander Vela, I assume you spent some time in, ah, 'tariff minimization'?" An'riel looked at Jarok for her reaction. She was pure Navy, and it'd been the _Imperial_ Navy, and there was a certain inflexibility that lingered.

Exposure to the Republic malcontents had apparently worn her down, and she didn't twitch. "We actually run ale to the Federation past custom stations?" Jarok said, surprised.

With slowly gaining confidence, Vela explained, "Well, there's a group of Federation and non-aligned traders who make a good profit since a lot of people on the fringes just ignore the ban and drink it. As long as it wasn't gross lots, it was easy to move a few of it through the transwarp hub, for 'private consumption'. There used to be a couple freighters from a couple of the more backwards colonies that didn't have much to offer, serving as wholesalers."

"Anyone who has imbibed more than once will recognize this poor quality. They must have better available," An'riel said, "The Federation is not large enough to continuously rely on new customers." She sighed, internally, at the smiles as that. It was relatively easy. Surely it would have been noticed when doing the diplomatic seals. She had saved the Republic some humiliation. Still, her crew had come through in an effort to excel her. She still had to match that.

"With the other captains' permission, she continued as the chuckles ceased. "I would like to take Subcommander Vela for her expertise, and the _Lexington_ thanks to our vast number of transporters-"

Jarok interrupted, holding up a hand. "I have to ask, did I see a transporter pad on your bridge?"

"They are everywhere," An'riel agreed, "That one is original, and the dockyards could not bring themselves to rip out remaining equipment. Some sort of scrambling signal at tactical alert helps block such an easy transporter target, it seems. Or so they tell me." That brought some real laughs.

"But regardless," she continued, "between those, and our enhanced hanger support for the fighters, we can move cargo quickly. Transfer the rest of the potables to my ship, we will hand off the other diplomatic equipment in exchange, and then do the final transfers after the goodwill tour joins us at the customs station." That got some nods, and she sat back and joined the discussion to ease transfers, satisfied she'd helped highlight her crew a little. It was the end, but she still had to do what she could.

* * *

The mere mechanical effort of rearranging all the ale took several hours longer than anticipated – warships weren't transports, and they'd been expertly packed in anticipation in being unloaded in a specific order. But it'd gotten done, and they had a few days before the tour caught up with them.

The two ships slid out of space at what passed for a border in the depths of space. The Federation transwarp system had a small hub here, a bit behind the old Neutral Zone. This had been the end of the line, 'galactic south' of Starbase 39 when the Empire had been around, and the trunk line administered by the Republic ended a few light years away.

And the transponder readings, at a glance, showed far too few ships for such a 'natural' artificial gathering point. "Launch ready fighters," An'riel ordered, "Tactical alert – battle stations!" The ship's klaxon – the usual Republic Navy version thankfully, sounded automatically as the bridge crew barely spared a glance of surprise as they readied for combat. "Get me Subcommander Vela!" She entered a query on one of her command consoles, confident the crew knew their business.

The other Rihannsu appeared on screen looking drawn. The lights on her bridge were dimmed, crew moving to battle stations as well. "There's almost no Republic traffic," she said, mournfully, "And not much Federation."

An'riel checked the results, and spoke up to be heard over the 'thump' of fighters leaving their rails, echoing through the hull. "Nothing from Intelligence on any changes to shipping patterns or trade density in this area," she said, "The last update is dated four days ago."

"Admiral, we've got power up from the defense – belay," Hiven reported, then stopped. The heavyset science officer looked puzzled. "Brief power spike from outer defense ring, then stopped. There's a squad of runabouts forming up in an escort pattern."

"We are being heavily sensor-scanned," Satra, nominally science department head, was on the passive suite right now. "Our transponder and the _Triumph_ 's have both been queried."

"No shields on the central customs hub?" An'riel asked. Hiven shook his head. "Any sign of the defense frigates?" Satra shook her head at that.

"Maintain tactical alert, contact the central hub, get me a deep scan of it and analysis – life signs, radiation, everything," An'riel said, leaning forward unconsciously. "Launch remaining fighters into escort formation."

Jalel looked up, running a directional sound feed. The trill Starfleet liaison was a security specialist (understandable), and since she didn't have a habit of swinging out grapples with _mek'leths_ between the teeth to seize neutral shipping, that usually meant he just got to run the communications' console in a crisis aboard ship.

"Admiral, I have a signal from the customs station. A Commissioner ch'Raln is asking our intentions," Jalel said. "Transponder codes and basic security check were passed. The last Starfleet personnel database shows a Captain th'Maln was in charge."

An'riel held a hand up as she ran a quick query, then pointed at the screen. A sturdy Andorian, in current Federation stylishness, appeared in the center of the screen, masculine to An'riel's eyes. It wasn't a close-in shot, so she could see what looked like a Starfleet command center dealing with the shock of an apparently friendly dreadnought going to combat status. There was another Andorian, in Starfleet's tactical-branch colors and captain insignia, patiently waiting a little behind. It did not look like there was anyone applying force, but, to be safe…

"Commissioner ch'Raln, this is Admiral seh'Virinat. My code is three-Romeo-Alpha-Victor-Victor, are you well?" she asked calmly, studying him.

The commissioner did not miss a beat, "Federation Commissioner Verx ch'Raln. My code is two-eight-two-Alpha-Alpha. All is clear."

An'riel relaxed, "Disengage from tactical alert, cancel fighter strike and recall," she ordered. Not that there had been – unsupported fighters against a base were so much chaff. But nothing wrong with giving a fiercer impression. She settled a bit – the chair was suddenly feeling more comfortable.

"Admiral, we were not expecting the Republic envoys for another two standard days," the Commissioner said, eyes glinting hard. Subcommander Vela was looking wide-eyed. Federation Commissioners: a holdover from the days when it could be months between planetfalls for ships, and days for subspace. They spoke – they embodied - the authority of the Council and the President. They were very rarely authorized these days, and they weren't given out to fools.

So what was happening here? An'riel spoke carefully, thoughts barely ahead, "Proconsul D'Tan is remaining on his schedule," she said truthfully. "We were sent ahead to help speed processing for the escort group, and a security inspection prior to the arrival of our head of state." She waited a beat. "Commissioner, this is a natural trade nexus, and one of the most important routes between our two governments. Where is the station's escort group?" The captain behind ch'Raln looked pained at that, but recovered admirably for an Andorian.

"The station's frigate squadron is escorting impounded freighters," ch'Raln said. "With trade normalization one of the important goals for this conference, President Okeg authorized me to serve as special representative for D'Tan, though I was shocked what I found here at the border when I arrived yesterday." He looked at An'riel narrowly, and continued, "Much of the current traffic flow included light contraband. Trade in _Kali-fel ,"_ and his pronunciation of ale was pretty good, "is still illegal within the Federation. We were checking all manifests, and seized a great deal of contraband via inspections."

"Of course," An'riel said smoothly, "The Federation is well within their rights to administer and regulate trade, and we are happy to help offer our services as protection until your frigate group returns. Perhaps we can arrange an exercise?"

"That would fall outside my domain. Captain th'Maln may be able to work that in," the commissioner said. The other Andorian nodded once. "I am somewhat surprised to see an officer of your standing on a security sweep."

"There are always intelligence concerns," An'riel said, also technically truthful. There always were. Tovan, for some reason, was grinning, invisible given the _Lexington's_ weirdly horizontal layout of its bridge. "I have an obligation, after all, to be where the Navy requires. Though any information you have on smuggling, I will be happy to pass on to our patrols. Captain th'Maln, if we can tie into your tactical net, I would like to come over with a team for a security sweep within the next hour. And invite both you and the Commissioner, as well as your staff, to dinner and reciprocate with a tour of the _Lexington_ , the apparent future of starship design."

Captain th'Maln finally spoke with a grin, "Naturally, Admiral – we are a bit scattered, but we have complete inventory, transfer records, and recent ship movements available I can transfer now." An'riel was glad Vela was only in the feed at that side. Vela hadn't bothered hiding her grimace.

"That would be well – under Alliance protocols, we will be undertaking a security sweep within an hour, please coordinate with my transporter group for beam-down coordinates. The _Triumph_ and the _Lexington_ will move to parking orbits," she said. The two Andorians nodded, and their half of the screen blinked out.

"Someone that focused on obeying every codicil?" she said aloud, "D'Tan is going to eat his staff alive at the conference."

Vela said, "Assuming we can find anything to rinse it down with." An'riel grinned and nodded at the point as both crews chuckled.

"Yes, we may have to start replicating," she said, "Distasteful as that would be. First – sensors, results of deep scan?"

Satra reported, "Standard K-series Federation outpost. Life signs read as a mixture towards the colder races in the majority, Benzites, Bolians, and Andorians. No lingering radiation or high-speed debris indicating battle. Cargo areas showing unusual mass readings – they're full, but density indicates liquid."

"So word got out the grapevine to avoid here to not risk being seized in an inspection, but at least we may be able to fill our stocks" An'riel said darkly. "I am all for the rule of law, let no one say otherwise who is not Tal Shiar, but… Jalel, what is the usual security team compliment of a K-class station?"

Jalel said instantly, "For one on a non-combatant border, they swap out some of the engineering teams, probably seventy-five."

"Five-person security teams still?" she asked. The Trill nodded in response.

"Subcommander Vela, as a former, ah, logistic expert, your assessment?" An'riel asked.

"Given even a day of that sort of pressure, they may be close to falling over – given the sort of density normally through here," she said, "There's probably a dozen light, small ships and dozens of warp shuttles sneaking through, especially if their entire frigate squadron is detached," she said grimly. "Admiral, I know everyone talks about ale being illegal, but there's a lot of weapons labs that still haven't been found yet, stuff like biogenic weaponry. I never touched it, but there's a lot of idiots."

"I know, and the Commissioner is certainly well-intentioned. You are coming along with any crew you wish. Maybe we can, ah, accept the contraband. Have your tactical teams work with mine, see if we can do some 'training' that will convince the Commissioner to authorize more border guards. If they are cracking down, they will need the ships," she said.

"A cloaked raid?" Vela said with a grin, "Oh, we can do that. We will meet you at the station in an hour."

"Admiral seh'Virinat out," An'riel said, and turned as the screen winked out. She turned. "We must be cautious and on the best behavior – tell your departments, children," she said to the bridge in general. "The Federation is looking inward after the War – the Commissioner is a symptom, we must do our part to be the cure, and give no excuse. Our oaths to the Republic and its stability require our do our part to keeping the open borders with the great powers."

Her console beeped. "But we still are helping arrange the transport of thousands of bottles of contraband alcohol?" Tovan, apparently, had to ask.

An'riel shot him a look, then typed back, "The veneer of legitimacy can move mountains – so these two goals are not yet mutually exclusive."

* * *

The inspection was… not immediately inspiring of creativity. Once you've seen one Federation base, you could find your way around the identical corridors of the operations center of any other. Blind-folded, in An'riel's opinion.

Still, th'Maln was clearly proud of it, and she'd brought Veril and Satra to help confirm it was indeed in good condition; the dark Reman for checking maintenance logs and equipment, and Satra to check the people for intervention by various security agencies. There was a certain pattern to sleeper agents they'd seen enough to recognize, unfortunately.

Vela had brought a couple of shifty-looking computer experts. From her questions in the power plant, apparently she was her own engineering expert.

And there hadn't been anything, as they'd gone through environmental, the docking bays, weapons control, weapons bays, and flight control. An'riel would have been surprised at there was. Intelligence had been readying tripwires for enemy agents for months before this trip.

 _Th'Maln_ apparently had been preparing for tripwires, or just approached his job with some serious enthusiasm. When they hit the operations center, An'riel had been nearly snowed under by all the sensor analysis his crew had done. Delta-v readings, mass matchups –course vectors and estimations on fuel consumption. Add to that all the normal reporting of any large installation, personnel reports, maintenance logs, and supply consumption. She made some mental notes to get a copy to study more in depth, if she ever had to run a border station.

It'd certainly made the Commissioner's job easier, when he'd arrived. Th'Maln had commented as much when they'd been reaching the cargo bays.

"Not that I want you to think my crew was ignoring the issue," he said by way of introduction, standing next to a cargo bay personnel access door. "But I have a limited enforcement capability even with the frigates; our primary duty is traffic control. It's items like biogenic devices, heavy anti-personnel weapons and cloaking devices that Starfleet Security is the most worried about coming over." He smiled, feral in expression, and said, "Though occasionally someone pushes their luck and tries to bring more than a case past the station."

An'riel said, "The Republic would rather it did not have to deal with biogenic labs and loose cloaks either, but we inherited unsettled times." Satra made a huffing sound like a choked laugh. An'riel ignored it with long practice, and said, "My understanding," with a brief nod to Vela, "was that the 'wholesalers' stayed back far enough their act of selling contraband potables did not violate Federation statue. So only a small trickle came through."

Th'Maln grimaced as he punched in a security code. And a biometric check, somewhat to An'riel's alarm. He said, "That's normally true – it's easy to laugh at trying to stop mass distribution, but that Romulan ale's got a bad kick, and it takes a while to set in. I've heard of some serious accidental alcohol poisonings, because victims didn't realize how much alcohol they had imbibed in the first glass. And even a bottle can be enough to knock out a table." That made An'riel grimace. She'd considered it from the perspective of an exotic import, but all the iron-based blood races were going to be more affected than Vulcanoids.

Th'Maln finished entering security codes, "But all the trade is lying low while complaints get submitted to the Council – we found some engine-room regulations that weren't followed and impounded their ships." He looked over, strangely pleading. "In your report, Admiral, we were able to just seize contraband off our own ships, but once the Republic-flagged ones are processed, they should be returned with a fine and cargo seized."

It was good, she reflected, that the Federation was primarily still concerned with a good impression on this border. For a run for ale, this was getting seriously political.

The station's computer spoke briefly. "Warning: This area is under lockdown. No items may be removed under penalty of Federation law. Security scans are in effect."

"Acknowledged, Captain th'Maln, voiceprint match," the Andorian said, then drew himself straight. The heavy bulkhead finally opened. An'riel's jaw dropped. Veril openly cursed. Vela whistled, and An'riel was pretty sure that one of her security officers actually licked his lips.

The K-class cargo bays were large; divided only in regards to structural integrity rather than battle damage considerations. Twenty meters high and a good distance long, from what she could see. It was hard to, with all the cargo pods in the way, up to the ceiling. And they all had security seals indicating contraband.

"Three more bays like this. Two of your freighters cargo seized, and then everyone running into Republic space seemed to have picked up a few cases," the captain indicated. "We have a much smaller bay with some plasma flamethrowers and active camouflage netting we picked up."

An'riel pulled out her tricorder. She'd used it a few times as cover for this, where she could get positional scans. "Pulling the inventory," she explained aloud, "From the information encoded on those cases and the cargo pods, someone had some taste when buying discretely," she said drily. "I do not suppose the Republic could take over disposal? It would be a shame to waste this, and it is all legal in Republic space."

"Believe me, I'd be happy to let you take over figuring out how to ship it all," th'Maln grunted. "But it's all flagged for disposal and mass-checked. The evidence chain is expecting many, _many_ cases of ale. Moving it out or opening the cases would cause issues."

"Would additional cases in the room cause a problem?" An'riel asked, "I do not usually deal with law enforcement on this scale, but we have cargo aboard that needs to be locked under diplomatic seal."

Th'Maln considered, "Oh, no, we could monitor the additional cases – beaming them in and out, if they are transporter safe, is easiest, and we still have a little free cargo capacity for the rest."

An'riel nodded. The rest of the tour, mainly meeting additional personnel and checking the docking tubes, passed without much consideration. Her mind was working.

* * *

Later, but before any state dinners, she had gathered her and Vela's officers aboard one of the conference rooms, with a hologram up of the station's cargo bays, and summarized briefly the tour aboard the station, finishing with, "So it appears we cannot buy or be simply given it."

Vela said, "Which is why we will be exchanging it." Her crew looked rather unsettled – expected, why they'd briefly rehearsed this part on the way back. The _Lexington_ 's crew merely smiled.

The _Triumph's_ first officer asked, "How? They'll detect transporter activity."

An'riel said, "True, but sensors are dependent on being read. We scheduled a tactical exercise. The _Lexington_ will coordinate tactical command and suppress the security alerts."

"We ran some numbers – with it being stored in multiple locations, a simultaneous beam-in/beam-out will suffer less interference since we can use multiple transporter emitters," Vela explained. "Even with the changeover, we can only risk one lift."

Veril cracked her knuckles. "We can handle the beam-out by expanding the pattern buffers – we don't need our actual weapons, so we'll have plenty of power," she said, "Though the more transporters we can use, the better."

"Volatility is important, moving this stuff normally by transporter can be delicate," Vela said with the voice of long experience, "The less strain on the Heisenberg compensators, the less chance we have of ending up with the only flavor being alcohol."

An'riel rolled her eyes, "I ordered the quartermasters to move some crates up to the bridge pad. And the emergency transporters for beam-in. The ship's fighters are well outfitted for their size – we are using their transporters for the pull out as well, synchronized to our systems. We will be unable to utilize any transporters until finished, but we can moderate our beam-ins."

Vela's XO shook his head again. "I know that hulk's from the future, but the computer cores are modern. That's a lot of mass you need to hold against degradation."

An'riel glanced at Satra, who shifted. "It could be difficult – with the computer cores at capacity, and tying in the dedicated processors from the science labs where we can, we have a ninety-five percent chance of success," she admitted.

"Unfortunately, we have to run the tactical exercise, and moderating the exercise both takes up resources and limits how many subsidiary systems we can deactivate," An'riel said. "The faster our transporter officers can operate, the better our chances, and I have great faith in my crew's ability." She smiled, "And we have a few more things we can move around suddenly, which should add to the distraction."

Jalel, as the Starfleet officer in the room sighed, "As long as this operates so they still have the right amount impounded, I don't have any conce3rns. Ch'Raln's rushing the destruction to make a point to avoid any appeals, but on the other hand, the Federation's going to let the Republic bring tons of the stuff under diplomatic protocol."

"And you will have a new paper for security improvements to submit," An'riel said. Jalel nodded.

The _Triumph's_ team looked unconvinced. Vela read the mood, "Admiral, I'm sorry – our patrols tend to be more… direct than this."

An'riel said reassuringly, "Your crew had performed exceptionally so far. The _Triumph's_ main task will be to successfully perform a cloaked raid against the remaining shipping, before any ships can respond." She sobered, and said, "And if this does not work, I will take full responsibility and submit myself for arrest."

* * *

A few hours later, everything was ready. Captain th'Maln was in the center spot now, the commissioner observing with interest. The _Lexington_ was snuggling up to the station in a parking orbit again, smaller time-rated ships deployed from its fighter wing, spreading out as cover. _Triumph_ was loping off in the distance at half-impulse. As she checked the tactical display, the lean warbird dropped into cloak. Both ships had just done a long-range sweep a light-year out from the station to make sure no one was _actually_ planning to raid. Among other things, it would be very embarrassing.

"We don't have full carrier facilities on board," the Captain said, "But we have reinforced runabouts we can deploy – they're normally on ready five, but we're getting them manned so their tactical systems can tie in."

"Understood," An'riel said, "The _Aeons_ are not as good as the ones recovered from the Azure Nebula in terms of endurance, but we have pre-launched them to help cover for your frigate squadron."

The commissioner asked, "The captain explained this briefly to me, but they're responding to a distress signal?"

"That is correct, Commissioner," An'riel said politely, "Klingon privateers and Elachi raiders have both used such techniques before. Piracy is a for-profit business, while a refitted _Mogai_ warbird could do heavy damage with the station's escorts present, it would certainly be savaged, and it is unlikely enough salvage would be taken to recompense."

"Doesn't a dreadnought from the future outweigh one frigate squadron?" the commissioner asked reasonably. And more or less on cue, too, with little prompting.

"Ah, yes," An'riel said, and turned to her operations officer, "D'Vex," she said, "Please bring the warp drive off line for maintenance." The ship's background rumble dropped significantly as engineering cut out the warp core. "This was a good opportunity – dilithium-moderated cores are not common in the Republic Navy, and we need to evaluate its effects on the warp coils."

Tovan hit his cue from the loose script, "And there are those odd surges in the port nacelle to look at." The admiral glanced briefly, then turned back to the screen.

"Sadly, those too," An'riel said, "As effective as this ship is, its technology exceeds ours in some ways despite its refitting." Allies or no, a little underestimation of Republic capabilities in Federation intelligence circles didn't hurt.

"We can still fight reasonably well on auxiliary power, Commissioner," An'riel said, "But our shielding and speed will be reduced significantly. This will slow our response enough a raider can strike the freighters in your outer parking orbits." And without worrying about subspace field calculations or maintaining core containment, it freed up fifteen percent more of the computer core.

"I see," the Commissioner said, "Well, you folks know your business. I'll let you begin."

"Thank you, Commissioner. Operations," she said formally, "Stand by tactical links and signal the _Triumph_ – simulation mode standby." Captain th'Maln nodded and the screen dropped out.

"All right, stand by transporters," An'riel said. There was a brief hum in the background, the transporters cycling up to full power as the held tonnage was prepared to be thrown across space. "Broad-transmit simulator engage, switch over systems, start transporters."

Jalel's security board starting chirping in urgent alarm. "Admiral, the station's sensors are detecting multiple unauthorized transports originating from our ships," he said, "Should I alert the station?"

An'riel checked one of her panels, "Did they continue, or was it a brief blip?" Behind them, the bridge transporter began to hum and glow as a cargo pod on the pad was filled up with transplanted contents. A small crew was on hand to move them out of the way and continue the exchanges– hopefully they wouldn't have to leave the bridge with any speed.

"No, looks like a single lift, though of unusual intensity," Jalel said. "Off-hand, I would say the mass would be a significant portion of our on-board inventory."

"Fascinating, a glitch for later analysis in the simulator system," An'riel said drily. "Science, is there any change in readings from the station?"

Satra said, "Gravitic mass readings fluctuated very briefly – looks like it evened out to before the simulation though." She checked another board, "On an unrelated note, pattern buffer showing minor degradation on 'outer' streams – moving those to the head of the queue. Overall degradation at .002 percent."

Hiven was standing by one of the cargo pods that had been loaded with a tricorder. "No degradation on the first batch - no unusual or degraded compounds," he reported happily.

"Some contents may be lost in transit," An'riel quoted. The main sensor board chirped alert. "Okay, our official business now, children. Report."

Satra flipped her consoles, "Enemy _Mogai_ just dropped out of cloak, launched a full spread of plasma torpedoes against the outer defense sphere – heavy damage to turrets. It's vectoring on a J-class freighter… firing cannons." She flipped the screen image, showing a dark warbird spitting simulated plasma fire against a freighter, the long nightmare of many a Starfleet officer on the border.

"Tactical alert, bring us around and vector fighters," An'riel said easily, as she settled down to business.

* * *

The _Triumph_ had eventually been seen off with scorched rear armor, and a hold half-full. Defense of a fixed point without mobility was always a concern. Captain th'Maln had managed to avoid looking smug when the Commissioner had used his authority to pull in some extra mobile forces from the reserve as a result. And An'riel had not commented as a freighter arrived to handle processing of seized contraband.

With the ship full of technically stolen alcohol, no one had been much more than breathed until the freighter had gone into warp, with _its_ hold full of defrauded alcohol.

"I have no idea how to write your commendation, Subcommander," she said over the tightbeam link once that business was finished. "But you have done well, and I appreciate your assistance in stealing from a friendly government to help deal with fraud within our own to transport technically illegal goods to our embassy with said friendly government."

Vela smiled, tightly, "Thank you, just put it down as a successful diplomatic mission." That would, given the fleet once again increasing rapidly, probably get her a promotion to at least a squadron command. "Retaining _mnhei'sahe_ in this way – I am glad you are around to try and keep honor and face and it isn't my job fulltime, there are many factors to consider."

An'riel blinked a few times at that. "Yes, I suppose this was unusual, but you did perfectly well, and I can name off-hand dozens of captains that could pull off the operation."

"True, but they weren't here, and the operation wasn't one expected," Vela said. "You probably saved the Republic some grief today. Vela out."

An'riel smiled, then looked at Tovan, who didn't meet her face. Maybe he was right – the last several months of practice and readying training had been necessary, but she felt much more confident back out in the field, with the unknown. Even the liquid unknown.

"What did that cost you?" she asked, inclining her head to the screen. Tovan hesitated, then spoke.

"Not much," he admitted, "A case of ale, of all things, after this week."

 _That_ she had to laugh at.

* * *

Eventually – the rest of the escort squadron showed up, supplies delivered and morale improved for a dozen shattered worlds. Now _Lexington_ was in formation with the _Lleiset_ , finishing offload. Their battle was done, D'Tan's was about to begin, and the _Lexington_ would be off to the Delta Quadrant, to see what the future could hold.

An'riel was in her office, writing up her acceptance of a command transfer Kererek had offered, when the bridge pinged her. "Admiral – the Proconsul and Subcommander Jarok are calling."

She got up briefly to put her uniform jacket on, "Put it through, please," she said.

The small screen showed the slightly alien bridge of the _Lleiset_. Exactly where the _Scimitar_ -class and its derivatives originated had died somewhere between Shinzon and the fires of Hobus, but An'riel never felt it was an especially effective layout with then-current technology. In any case, the two Rihannsu looked vaguely out of place in it.

"Admiral," D'Tan said politely, "Your unclassified report was forwarded from New Romulus Command. Minister Tervik was caught before he could board ship to Ferenginar." The proconsul briefly looked very hard before he continued, "His efforts have seriously hurt the efficiency of our recovery efforts. Your crew is to be commended for its alertness."

"Proconsul, I am sorry it went so long," An'riel said, "If he was not getting greedy, it would never have been something so blatantly obvious. The Commissioner fortunately provided an easy alternate, but despite his short-term vigor and fire, he seems competent and does not make mistakes long," she warned. D'Tan nodded.

Jarok said, "Still, it was caught, and the Federation does not seem alarmed by your efforts. And we also heard from Kererek that you're ready to go back in the field."

"I understand your reasons why you did not want a fleet command post, but I am glad some good came from Sela's actions. Kererek has wanted you running a full group on 'fire brigade' for some time, and this substitution of ale was another example why. You provided a unique solution," D'Tan said, "Though I am sorry for my part in making solving it more difficult."

"There are so many breweries, Proconsul," Jarok said politely. "Only Navy personnel would have any reason to be familiar with it." An'riel nodded.

"That may be – the Minister did provide a sample," D'Tan said, "I'm afraid it all tasted the same for me, and the price listed was reasonable for high-grade refreshments."

Jarok and An'riel shared a brief, but panicked glance. They were, after all, both inheritors of the aristocracy of the old Star Empire system to some degree, while D'Tan had spent his life as a rebel marked for death, slowly building a personal following in defiance of the Tal Shiar's most murderous efforts.

But still, a hard thing to absorb that the Proconsul, seasoned diplomat, head of state, a philosopher who had broken centuries of dishonor to turn their people into something to be proud of again, and one of the most respected beings in the quadrant… was also a being with no taste.

* * *

Author's Note – Sometimes, epiphanies don't happen on super-dramatic missions. I think I need to rotate Jalel back to Starfleet, he's going native.

The core idea of the story was sort of a vague combination of An'riel dealing with the remarkable luck that leads to victory for the Republic in the Romulan campaign in Star Trek Online, and the last joke. And of course, doing something a little lighter since the Iconian War is so heavy.


End file.
